What Obama Didn't See

Faith Jackson, 9, created a haven in a hollow magnolia tree in her Soulsville yard. Inside is a portal to everything she can imagine - a refuge where she transforms her fear of living in a neighborhood where gunshots frighten her into a leafy friend she calls April. Chris Dean observes: "Just 'cause it don't have a heartbeat don't mean it's not real. In autumn, when the leaves fall, I wonder if she gets sad. If you think something is real - it is."

Lonzo Johnson, 60, picks up cans for extra money, filling a ragged garbage bag that spills cans back onto the street. Johnson, who lives in a one-room shed, spends his hours covering bicycles in beer cans and shiny found objects. He mounts boom boxes to his tricked-out bikes and rides through the streets of South Memphis blasting soul classics. Johnson is proud of his ability to knock big guys out. Folks call him "Bill Dundee," after the pro wrestler. Chris Dean observes: "Ten cents a can is what the old man is sayin' without sayin'. But hard work won't pay off if he keep dropping cans. Too much pride to hold out his hand, so ten cents a can is what the old man is saying without saying."

Discarded furniture litters the street at 380 E. McLemore as Dontarrius Lee, 9, looks for his friends around the Willoughby apartment complex. Dontarrius says he wants to be a police officer when he grows up. Chris Dean observes: "We grow up seeing a community with no pride. Imagine how hard it will be for that boy in the picture to become a businessman. Look at what he sees when he comes out his front door. It's hard to look past the things that are right in front of you."

Chris Dean's mother, Paula Dean, sings "I Give Myself Away" at Repairers of the Breach Church in Southaven as a member of the congregation cools her with a fan. Chris Dean observes: "Church is the only place one can go that move spirits and changes heart. If you are having trouble in your life, you might tell a room full of people you don't know something that you won't tell your husband."

Shadows cast on The Neighborhood Market Place on Mississippi. Owners Arvis and Sonja Latting describe their store as an inner city WalMart with the best prices in town for secondhand clothes, shoes, linens and electronics. Chris Dean observes: "In this area, there is a lot of prostitution. About four years ago a hooker got killed. This reminds me of the women that walked the streets. Many of them are pregnant. You shouldn't bring a kid into that situation. They can't afford not to. It's sad stuff."

Marcus Wellington, 20, has lived in Foote Homes housing project all his life and has an 11-month baby girl. The initials A.T.M. on his neck stand for "addicted to money" and the tie he sports on his chest is a sign of entrepreneurship. He plans to get shirt sleeves and a Rolex watch tattooed next. "If you don't hustle you don't eat - it's all about the bread and the meat," he says. Chris Dean observes: "What is the purpose of the projects? Is it for the people to kill each other off or to somehow come together and help each other? Or maybe the 'project' is already done."

Bread awaits purchase at the M&R Grocery and Deli #3 at the corner of E. Trigg and S. Wellington. Store owner Bill Wilchie says the most popular items he sells are cigarillos, beer, cigarettes and sugary drinks. Once he gets his EBT machine turned on, he expects that service to increase business by 40%. Chris Dean observes: "Bread made out of nothing. That's what they feed us. And it's cheap so that's what the people are gonna buy."

The Vance Grocery Store is central to the daily life of many who live in the Foote Homes housing project. Shanicka Austin gets a drink after Fourth of July fireworks. She wears "Chucks," Chuck Taylor shoes, with the toes cut out. The shoes are the same color as her toenails. Chris Dean observes: "Lots of traffic on that corner."

Memphis police Capt. L. Jackson has known many of the shoe shine guys at Anthony's Unique Shines on McLemore since they were kids. He tries to support them with his patronage because they are doing something constructive and he wants to give them some hope that a person can survive doing legal work. Tim Lawson, 41, shines the captain's shoes. He has worked at the shine shop for 25 years. Chris Dean observes: "I started really respecting the captain because one time my big brother got in trouble with my mom. He is really big and tall, like 230 pounds - so my mom called the police just in case. I was the second man in the house so captain started talking to me and told me his life's story - about how he was treated and how his father was. He really broke it down and he started crying. That was my first time to see a man cry in person. He was a man first and also a man of the law. Every time you see him, he's so tough. And in my hood the dope boys are scared of the police. And he's a caption over the police! Like a lion showing respect. My respect for him skyrocketed. Look at him - he gets his shoes shined."

Less that 24 hours after a building burned down near Willie Jones' apartment, he and many others scoured the property for metal that could be sold. Jones, 59, carries a fence section to the bed of a truck and split $200 from the sale of the metal. He lost his arm when he was working on a demolition crew. He says, "There ain't too much for a one-armed guy to do. I just do what I can." Chris Dean observes: "Having nothing to lose makes you humble, so when you do get something it makes you hold on to it."

On one of the hottest days of the year, Francine Hudson, 53, struts down Latham singing to pass the time. She sings Irving Berlin's "Cheek to Cheek," but then minutes later breaks into tears when she sings "A Change is Gonna Come" by Sam Cooke. Months earlier, Hudson's jawbone, nasal passage and eye socket were crushed during an attack on the street when she refused to sell herself for $10. She still has screws in her gums from the surgery done at The MED. The former secretary, receptionist and fast food worker says she's seen death and been raped. Chris Dean observes: "She started out as a good girl who was taken advantage of by the streets. Now she is the streets. She is the definition of surviving."

Reggie Allen calls himself the man of a thousand faces. He's the owner of rooming houses in South Memphis and dreams of being an actor, a cowboy and a bluesman. He is seen showing one of his many comic looks, a bandito. Chris Dean observes: "People say seeing is believing and when you dream you get to see your hopes. That's why they call it hopes and dreams."

A Chevy with 24-inch wheels sporting an alligator skin interior is the envy of some in Foote Homes. The owner of this car used to give Chris Dean money to make trick shots on the basketball court to encourage him not to get in the dope game. Chris Dean observes: "Right across the street from the school is where the dope boys rule and all the li'l girls think it's cool."

Flippers, left to right, Avalanche Wallace, 9, Eric Bonds, 9, and Keyshawn Henry, 12, learn to make money using their acrobatic skills and tip buckets daily on Beale Street. The children help to support their families. Flexing, Bonds says, "Look how my arms is. I'm gonna be built." His uncle founded the Beale Street Flippers. Chris Dean observes: "To have someone by your side to say this is how it's done - someone to look up to. Not just flipping but in every step of life - someone to say don't make the next right because that's one of the mistakes I made in life."

On July 4, Tamika Humphrey, mother of two, was hit and stabbed when an argument got out of control in Foote Homes. Her lung was punctured with a shovel. She is still recovering from the incident. Chris Dean observes: "She should be sitting on marble steps. South Memphis is not the place for Tamika. She deserves much more."

Many in South Memphis believe William Boyce was a basketball star who was poisoned. It's a familiar street tale. Successful people get mickeys slipped in their drinks. Boyce will tell you he played on the Memphis Tigers and did a stint as a pro and also in prison. He's 6-foot-9 and walks about 15 miles a day with milk crates that he shoots a basketball into. He pins notes to himself advertising his services as a stenographer and secretary or as a 40-word-a-minute typing newspaper reporter or a nurse's aid. Chris Dean observes: "All the years of shiny light has only helped him walk into a black hole. To feel sorry? No! Because sorry is something the hood will not let you feel. Love will got you killed. You see him and shake your head not knowing were he's been."